


The Tragedy of a Proud Man

by sazbezdie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Feels, Fluff, Historical References, Language of Flowers, M/M, Name Changes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-18 10:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sazbezdie/pseuds/sazbezdie
Summary: Let me tell you a story of a lone man and a love that was never meant to be reciprocated. A man who had everything but the most important. A man who loved one dearly but ended in the most ironic tragedy. The tragedy of a dalliance's efflorescence and its fugacious passion.





	1. Prologue

 

**LONG AGO, IN OLDEN TIMES, IN A CERTAIN REALM, IN A CERTAIN LAND, WHERE TREES WHISPERED EACH TALE OF TRIUMPH AND ROSES WITHOUT THORNS GREW ON HIDDEN MOUNTAINS. There lived a family whose blood was the bluest of blue.**

 

     A lonely king and his only son lived in an old castle with their many servants. Servants whom had long served the king from generation to generation. Their blood only existed to aid their king and his son.

 

     The king's only child, a young boy who had nothing but his father's expectations and his most gracious trust; his heart was never near to his father's affection, but he always stood at the top, looking down on others, even in his age of youth. His heart had no empathy —not a drop of sympathy nor of apathy. He was expressionless, his eyes had no color, his eyes had no soul behind. His name was Viktor Nikolaevichi I, a proud Prince of Russia, the proud man who had everything.

 

     Fortune is everything for a Russian aristocrat, and he thought same with this narrow-minded perspective. He lived with this prideful standing before that certain night of that certain winter week—

 

—the night of him losing himself and offering himself to the Forbidden Forest that surrounded his century-old abode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!
> 
> This was meant to improve my skills in English and, well, add contribution to this beautiful fandom. I can't promise what will happen at the end, though I know that this will end with their hearts reaching out to each other.
> 
> About the chapters, they might start short, but I hope, it will get longer after the first few chapters. Of course, I still have no idea how many chapters will this have, but I have this feeling that this will get very long. Also, I apologize for taking too long in updating later on.
> 
> If you haven't noticed, the characters will be having different names but quite near to their original ones. Of course, I know Victor's name is spelled with a 'c.' This is only for the purpose of the story. I know what's canon, so I hope that nobody corrects me with the spelling.
> 
> Please do ignore the errors in the story. This will be checked and edited later on. Also, be mindful that this will have no historical accuracy and relevance.
> 
> Thank you so much! I hope you, guys, will enjoy!


	2. Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the short chapters for a while and the few errors I have made.
> 
> Enjoy!

**THE FOREST WAS ALIVE. And its heart beats like ours do.**

 

     It was winter when it had happened. A very cold winter in the 19th century Russia—as cold as his freezing heart that knows not of Spring nor of Summer. It should have been snowing, that is. But strange, like in another dimension, snow wasn't falling from the gray skies. Nor was the night as freezing. 

     The young prince's heart was pulled by a strange invisible thread—or a powerful magnet near the center of the Forest's system. Strange voices guided the prince; oddly enough, he followed them. The voices he heard were hollow and repeating. He thought it was the trees whispering, telling the tales of Old Russia, and their breathless voices were carried by the wind—as if delivering it to the gods.

 

     For young Viktor, it wasn't as extraordinary as talking animals for he has read about unearthly happenings in the dancing Forest from hundreds of books in the castle's ancient library. He had heard of nymphs and guardians protecting every plant and living creature existing in the Forest's shadow, of divine beings walking on its soil, and of its heart that beats beneath a lonesome cave.

 

     Time doesn't seem to move as he had been walking aimlessly, following the obvious path. Obvious but every turn looks the same as before. _Is it a maze? A labyrinth?_ Never-ending thoughts conquered his mind. Thoughts trying to figure out this place.

 

_Is this a dream? Or perhaps, is this another realm?_

 

     The thought of leaping through time and space never left him.

 

     As a child, he held such amusing thoughts of magic and science. And unlike many others, the king-to-be was never bothered of religion. Of course, he never said anything to his father. Hearing this might be the end of his lavish life as a great prince and hearing this will make the Soviet turn its back on him.

    

     He shuddered at _that_  thought. He might be an outstanding young prince, but he fears the idea of being replaced by an even greater competitor. Nevertheless, he is still human. Not a god.

 

     He doesn't have anything or anyone to lose his title and luxury. He doesn't revolve around anyone, the world revolves around him.

 

     That's what he thinks.

 

     The curious path made by the trees lead to a dead end; and in front of him was a huge boulder that blocked the entire way.

 

     "Hello!" he shouted but only a clashing of echoes greeted him back. "Is anyone there?" he yelled in a higher pitch, his hands cupped around his mouth. Desperate, he called out again, "Hello!"

 

     "Hello!" He repeated again and again and again. He continued this until his voice started to crack. He got nothing but mere echoes of his voice. "Hello..." He was breathless and hopeless, there was nothing to see at all. _What do I do,_ he asked himself, curling himself, warming himself as the weather got colder.

 

_"Connect..."_ the wind whispered into his ear. _"The Forest has called you, connect... and you will see..."_

Shivers went down his spine, his eyes shaking in horror and surprise.

 

      _"Viktor, connect yourself,"_ it continued, _"the heart of the Forest has given himself to you as you would give yourself to him."_

 

     Hearing his name, he abruptly stood up, his feet trembling in cold water. He took a small knife hidden in one of his boots. "Who... Who a-are you?" he stuttered, putting himself on guard. He acted brave, but tears started to slowly fall from his eyes. "I dare you, tell me your name!" he yelled, but dread and panic can be heard from his tone. "Who do you think you are! Were you the one who had called me to this place!"

 

      _"Child, do not be afraid..."_ it said. _"I am your friend. The Forbidden Forest is your friend."_

"Don't dare deceive me, you fool!" He panicked, checking every direction.

 

     " _Poor child."_

_"I am no foe, and I am here to help you."_

Feeling its physical presence moving towards him, the young prince was urged to move backwards.

 

      _"Viktor, connect with the Forest's heart."_

"How dare you tell me what to do. I am the Prince of this country. I do not agree with—Ack!" He felt the cold stone touch his skin. It felt sharp and prickling to the skin—like needles piercing right through him.

 

      _"He had called upon you, Viktor... Accept him."_

"Who's _him_! What are you talking about! Is this some kind of nightmare!" He struggled setting himself free from this quagmire. _Literally_. The stonewall was like quicksand trying to eat him whole. "Answer me, whoever you are!"

 

      _"The heart has no name, Viktor. But he longs for you to call him."_ the wind told him in the calmest and most mellifluous voice. _"Accept him."_ Its last words, before fading in echoes.

 

     Then, chaos quaked the earth.

 

     The core rumbled, the winds felt heavy and it blew harsh—the clouds cleared the sky, the stars started to sing. Their pitch trembling higher. The trees, the trees started to move, dancing, and stepping forward. The moon started to howl, the surroundings started to blacken. Shadows started to tango. Hollow eyes looked at the young boy.  Whispers filled him with terror, telling him the secrets of the cosmos. Secrets he wouldn't remember at all.

 

      _"Is he the child?"_

_"Isn't he the prince of this kingdom?"_

_"Why did the Forest call him?"_

_"He is the chosen one."_

      _"Do not worry, young one,"_ one of the dead trees whispered, _"we, lost souls, are no foe of yours. We were saved by the Forest."_

He yelled.

 

     But nothing came out. His voice was lost in time.

 

     He yelled again.

 

     Nothing.

 

     Young Viktor struggled as the stonewall ate him whole. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel. He couldn't smell.

 

      _"Do not fear the heart, he will love you."_ The last of what he heard.

 

      _I don't understand,_ he tried to yell. But nothing came out. Until the last of light had flashed before him.

 

      _He will be your life, Viktor. Do not worry._

His body was lost. In time and space. In memory and history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. We meet again!
> 
> I hope I can handling updating weekly. If my school and personal affairs do give me time. But I assure that the next chapter will be here next week. Thank you!


	3. The King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short. My. I am very sorry. Trust me, this will get better. And definitely, longer.
> 
> Enjoy! I'll be glad to hear from you, guys!

  **THE STORM BREWS AT A GREAT DISTANCE. The deafening thunder and the  blinding lighting played war against living creatures. The pouring rain, its wrath will scare you.**

 

     "Your Imperial Majesty, the storm is coming."

 

     "I can see that, Popov." The king had a sorrowful look as he glanced at his right-hand man. "It has been days since my only son has gone missing," he said. The forlorn king stared out of the enormous oriel window which pictured the play of the Forbidden Forest. "Don't you think..." his words trailed away. He was staring intensely at the dark forest that encircled his sumptuous home, but staring too much made his mind spin around, like getting drunk from too much vodka.

 

     "Yes, Your Majesty?" Popov questioned.

 

     "Don't you think that he might have, ah—"

 

      _Secrets aren't meant to be told, Yakov._ The wind felt strong as she passed by.

 

     "Majesty?"

 

     As if awoken by a trance, the king went back to a reality that the God of this Universe has bestowed upon him. His life was drowning in a sea of pessimistic thoughts of his missing son.

 

     "Forget I've said anything of that matter, Popov." The King turned, his hands behind him and a small smile etched on his lips.

 

     "Sir, what do you mean?" Popov questioned, moving next to His Majesty as they walked out of the King's bedroom.

 

     "The matter does not need my opinion, I could not do anything with the loss of my son but mourn. I shall wait for good news by the end of the day, Popov." Yakov patted the latter's back who now had a sullen look on his face. "Perhaps tea may help me?"

 

     "Of course, I'll come back with your tea, Sire."

 

    _Yakov._

 

     His Majesty had gone in his room with the wind speaking to him. In his room, remembering his only heir.

 

     "What is it, Dukhe?" The sudden silence was what made his deep voice echo through the enormous bedroom.

 

      _Your son, Viktor, is safe, hidden in the Forbidden Forest. You need not to worry, Yakov. The heirs of the Nikolaevichi Family have done nothing but adore the Forbidden Forest, so in return, we have kept your son in the hands of the Flowers._

 

     "Should I be relieved that you are keeping my son?" He spun around to look for the wind; he might not see at first, but she will have form.

 

      _Spring is coming, Yakov. And Spring shall bloom, as the last drop of Winter snow blooms the first flower._

 

     Dukhe whispered behind him. _"Spring's blossoming of love does not wither. Shall it die, may it die. Shall it live, may it live."_

_Nor will I wither as you exist, Yakov._

 

     And then, she faded away—and him not knowing when she'll come back.

 

     "Sire, the tea?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, I got so responsible and was able to finish the chapter after this. I decided to post this chapter earlier since I might not have enough time tomorrow. God.
> 
> Please ignore my awkward writing style.
> 
> By the way, please don't forget that I need to change the original characters' names for a purpose. 
> 
> Thank you so much! See you next week.


	4. Snow Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Please do enjoy!
> 
> PS. I haven't made the next one, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to finish two by the end of the week.

**HE HEARD THE THUMPING LIFE BENEATH HIM; HOW THE ROOTS OF THE HEART AWAKEN HIM. And it was calling onto him again.**

 

     It was similar to those of human desires he had learned from the scholars who taught him the philosophy of life—or the lustful eyes he had seen from older men to women who wore provocative clothing for money.

 

     His eyes were open, conscious of what he sees, but his body dared no action. The golden sun was slowly rising behind him, its sunlight entering the gray cave. It was until then when his body started responding. The young prince pushed himself up, his feet stumbled with the sudden movement.

 

     Viktor envisioned the night before—how it screamed monstrosity and terror. His memories recalled his voice shouting for help, he remembered his throat going sore. With the thought, he coughed and looked for his voice, but what came out made his eyes look at his hand in horror. _Flowers._

 

     He coughed out flowers of white, crimson blood staining the innocent color. The sudden shock made him take a few steps backwards as he threw the petals in front of him. He clenched his chest, his heart racing out of him. His free hand reached the ground for support—he felt it again. The heart beating beneath, it followed the same pace as his. With every single beat, came a tremor, his mind making illusions of changing colors.

 

     This continued for a while, causing him to feel nauseous. He felt a large lump of whatever making its way up his throat— _was it the petals again?_

 

     The moment the tremors stopped, from its peak, it slowly decreased in intensity—the petals that were once in front of him dissolved into thin air, an aroma of different flowers greeted him. The scent held him spellbound, leading him to another world. It was no different from the events the night before, but this time, it felt like what seemed to be heaven sheathed in hell.

 

     The fragrance faded away when the young prince reached a vast and dark antre with odd-looking ferns covering the walls. As he started to walk, the fern flowers divided and made him a path. A path leading to an end.

 

_Is this the Heaven that the books he had read before told him about? Or is it the Hell which everyone fears?_

 

     He couldn't care any less. Curiosity had killed the cat.

 

     The king-to-be, in all heedlessness, ran through the path, the fern flowers following his pace. He ran and ran, not running out of breath; and what seems to be a dead end met him. A wall covered of fern flowers blocked his way.

 

      _Fern flowers._

 

     He suddenly realized. These flowers spoke of fortune and luck. Not only that but also fertility and a child's birth. It's significance to this country's history is incredibly great as evil spirits lurk these breathing plants to hide the fortune it contains.

 

      _"Prince, shall you tear it away as they hold the heart beating with yours."_

 

     He followed the voice, his body in control. His hands going violent and cleaved the plants. Every pull producing harsh hisses from the dying creatures.

 

     Whispers of the unknown hunt him.

 

     He pulled and pulled, he killed and killed, but he didn't reach the gold he had searched for.

 

     The treasure these plants keep are analogical to a human's greatest desire. Money, life, honor, power, tranquility, _love and warmth_...it goes on. And what Viktor, great Prince of Russia, wants is something he has yet to realize. As the only male bearer of the Nikolaevichi blood, he is too young to understand and to learn what comes after this series of misadventures.

 

     He continued to search, desperate to see the end. He wasn't like this before, he never had a set goal in front of him—because, because he knows what will become of him in the next few years. A king. A king who will rule this nation. A king who will steal the people's hearts. A man of strategy. A father to his children and a husband to his wife.

 

     I guess, this was written in every Nikolaevichi heir's book of life. To live a perfect life and to die smiling. Was he a man of tradition? He doesn't know, but his father was, and the King never missed the chance of teaching him the _Nikolaevichi way_ of living. The Nikolaevichi way of swooning all the women and marrying the most beautiful one in this country. And Viktor knew, from the moment he heard the words _marriage_ and _children_  coming out of his advisers' mouths, that he already has a wife waiting for him in the neighboring cities of St. Petersburg. He never knows, the beautiful lady might be somewhere in Moscow—now, that is a frightening thought. _Petersburgies despise Muscovites, and Muscovites hate our guts,_ his thoughts say.

 

     It surprises him, though...how he can still think about his princely duties whilst looking for the embodiment of his human desires.

 

     This long and tedious process of running and clawing away fern flowers had been going on for minutes now, and this tires the Prince. Physically and mentally. He has no idea whether he's making a fool out of himself, running in circles, or if a legitimate gold awaits the end. All negativity conquered his mind but his positive side eradicates it.

 

     Feeling the loss of breathable air inside this godforsaken cave, Viktor groaned and sat on the earthly soil beneath him. He clenched his chest, huffing and puffing—he was never the one to have good stamina. He tried to regain the lost energy but his body contradicted him. He _wanted_  to rest. But he tells himself that he doesn't need to, because what matters now is the treasure in this end. And, oh, the young Prince never once wished for anything in his life before, until this very day. And he wished and he wished for this day to end and for him to find the source of this unwavering motivation of his. Ten years of existence and he only lived knowing what he will get. Ten years of existence and he lived gaining what he wanted.

 

     So he stood up, getting back on his feet, and ran for his life. Because maybe what lies at the end might be life, something living for, something fighting for.

 

     Then, it continued—a never-ending cycle of violent pullings and harsh breaths. His train of thoughts left him, and it felt like his soul leaving him. It made him lightheaded and, then again, his vision started to blur. It was almost the same surreal feeling, it was the same intoxicating smell that lingered in the air, the same tune of music—the same voices singing into his ears. _In his mind._

This was until a beacon of light struck him. His turquoise eyes followed the blinding path, his movements stopped, his body felt electrocuted. His heart stopped for a moment before thumping so hard he heard it echo throughout his body. The hall of ferns was now painted in white and gold. Nervousness thrived in him.

 

     It took him minutes, though, before moving his body towards the mysterious light. Its glow never faded. The light was accompanied by a piercing sound; it stings and it was like a needle moving inside your body, following the stream of blood, finding your heart.

 

     His hand reached out for something. He didn't exactly know what  he wanted or what he felt, but his instincts knew, and he obeyed them. Not like before.

 

     His mind went on and off the very second he had his hand in this ball of light. He had no idea of what was happening, for the first time, he didn't know what was right or what was wrong. And the next thing he felt was ice-cold skin against his. His fingers intertwining.

 

     His mind panicked, it was chaotic. The certain train of thoughts that had left him went back. He felt useless. He can't think. He...didn't know what to do. And he admitted it. But something or, rather, _someone_ urged him to pull this cold hand to him.

 

     And what he saw was _breathtaking_. Warm and brown eyes slowly closing, fair beautiful skin, small pale red lips—it was a body of a child, a little younger than him—and then, gravity pulled them to the ground. A loud thud echoed in the cave. And slowly, his vision darkened, his eyes were slowly closing. A small smile etched on his lips.

 

     Then, Viktor thought about it.

 

     It was everything his senses couldn't handle, but like a god, he was breathing and his breath can be seen as the cold of Winter swirled around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore the errors for now, my friend and I'll be checking those when the whole thing's done! Thank you so much!


End file.
